


Some Other Worlds Are Even Less Kind

by RedFive



Category: Hannibal (TV), Wheel of Time - Robert Jordan
Genre: Also The Master of Annoying the Fuck Out of Will, Alternate Universe, Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Dry Humping, Feelings of Abandonment, Fluff, Hannibal Has Even Less Chill, Hannibal Lecter Master of Disguise, Hannibal is Not a Cannibal, Kissing, M/M, Not You Hannibal, Okay Fine Have It Your Way Hannibal, Rand al'Thor is not the Dragon, Schmitten Kittens, Someone Help Will Graham, Teenage Alana, Will has no chill, shameless flirting
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-22
Updated: 2017-01-26
Packaged: 2018-09-19 00:47:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 12,195
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9410228
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RedFive/pseuds/RedFive
Summary: No prior knowledge of the Wheel of Time necessary: A handsome stranger rides into town on the back of an ill wind. He offers companionship in one hand and a sword in the other. How far will Will Gra'ham follow him? Let time reverse. Let teacups come together, and as it was in Ages past, let the Dragon ride again on the winds of time.





	1. Him They Named Dragon: Part 1

**Author's Note:**

> Life is funny. When I was in high school, the Wheel of Time was just about everything to me. It was thing that made everything suck just a little less, and it would open doors I never dreamed possible. But all things must end, and after Robert Jordan passed away, I began to slip away. It's been over a decade since I wrote my last word in the Westlands, but here I am again...because of Hannibal? Hannibal moved my ending. I just wish I could go back in time and tell high school me all about this. Yeah, life is hella funny. 
> 
> Many thanks to [@artbyvictoriaskye](http://artbyvictoriaskye.tumblr.com/) and my bestie/old RP buddy [@arydishope](http://arydishope.tumblr.com/) for having a look at it and encouraging me to write this for #HannibalOdyssey. 
> 
> To any Fannibal willing to give this AU a shot, no prior knowledge of the Wheel of Time is necessary. This story starts at the beginning of the series. Those who have read the books will probably spot some easter eggs I've written into the story. ;-) To those readers: if you spot any of the things, I'll only confirm them privately. So drop me a PM or hit me up on [Tumblr](http://redfivewritingby.tumblr.com/). Enjoy! And please tell me what you think. I'd love to know if this is something people would like to see expanded into something much larger after this three parter has concluded.

 

* * *

All was shattered, and all but memory lost, and one memory above all others, of him who brought the Shadow and the Breaking of the World. And him they named Dragon.

\--from **_Aleth nin Taerin alta Camora_ ** ,  
_The Breaking of the World_ .  
Author unknown, the Fourth Age

 

* * *

 

The Wheel of Time turns, and Ages come and pass leaving memories that become legend, then legend fades to myth, and are long forgotten when the Age comes again. In one Age, called the Third Age by some, an Age yet to come, an Age long past, a wind arose in the skies above the Mountains of Mist. The wind was not the beginning. There are neither beginnings nor endings to the turning of the Wheel _but it was a beginning._

The wind gave chase to the white-capped rapids of the Manthendrelle, known to the farmers of the Two Rivers only as the White River. Eventually it tired and slipped across the riverbank in search of a new playmate. But there was no game to be found in the forest that day. It had been a long, hard winter and many of the woodland creatures had either moved on or been eaten by larger predators. Those that survived seemed content to stay hidden and warm in their burrows dreaming of spring. The wind turned northeast and tore through the evergreens of the Forests of Shadows ripping nettles from their moorings and emerged onto the Old Road just shy of the town of Deven Ride.

A lone rider traveled by the road as well. When the wind came upon the stranger, mounted on a black mare and clothed to match, the man raised his hand in the direction the wind had come from and closed his fist.  The wind died an unnatural death and in its death throes, knocked the man’s hood off revealing yellow hair and a cold face. The man muttered at the empty air in a language long forgotten by the men and women of the Two Rivers. The way he paused between thoughts and inflected the ends of his sentences suggested that he was in conversation with someone or something, which only he could see. When he realized what he was doing, he flinched.

“Shai’tan, we had a deal,” he grumbled speaking in the common tongue again. “Return my sister or keep these imagos far away from me. That is the price of my obedience.” They were bold words, bold and stupid. Men did not call the Great Lord of the Dark by his true name, and they certainly did not test him with such insolence.

The ground beneath his mount’s hooves rippled in response, but the rider sat straighter in his saddle refusing to be cowed. “Not yet. You cannot do away with me yet, you bastard.” _Being brave was easy when you were already a dead man._ The man had no illusions about what the world would come to if the Shadow won, and that day **would come**. One day, the Great Lord would be free to rend the skin from his body and much worse, but until the prophecies had come to pass, the man was safe enough. Safe from the Great Lord at least, but all manner of other creatures still wanted his head.

Night was falling, and the wolves were already out in large numbers. He could hear them at his back trying to come to an agreement about his intentions. He couldn’t speak to the wolves as Mischa could, but through her, he had gained an understanding of how their minds worked. The man dug his heels into the side of his mount and took off down the road at a gallop. He needed to reach whatever passed for civilization in these backwoods before they came to a decision. His blood was too precious to waste on a lonely road in the middle of nowhere. 

…

Will Gra’ham hid in the pantry of the Flowered Crown peeling potatoes for Alana, Orrin's teenage daughter. He should be at the bar helping Orrin with the evening crowd, but he’d already been more social tonight than he dared. Of all the odd jobs he had ever held, this was the worst. When Will was brought on, he assumed he had been hired as a bouncer. His years in service to Lord Nachiman had left him with the physique and experience required for the job. He never dreamed that he would end up waiting tables because there was not enough business to bounce out.  That’s how everything was in the Two Rivers, neat and orderly, but the job had its high points too. The pay was good, the bed was better, but most importantly, Deven Ride was as remote as it got. There was nothing special about Deven Ride or any of the farming communities in the Two Rivers. The region didn’t have any interesting exports except for its tabac, and outsiders almost never visited...until today.

A man had ridden into town at sundown, a nobleman according to rumor, and already the Flowered Crown was packed to capacity with all the town gossips. Will was busier than he had ever been in Orrin’s employ, which was a problem— **a** **big** **problem**. These situations overwhelmed him, and when he was overwhelmed, objects had a habit of catching on fire. That’s just how life was when you were a man who could channel, the kind of man who had broken the world centuries ago.

Now, the decent thing to do would have been to drown himself in a river after he touched the One Power for the first time, but Will wasn’t ready to die.  He wanted to fight! He’d been sworn into the battle as a babe in his cradle, all Borderlands folk were. Suicidal thoughts were the enemy obstructing him from his duty to use his power to repel the Dark One until the Last Embrace of the Mother finally welcomed him home. He just didn’t know how to use the power he'd been cursed with. If this sweet sickness was his birthright, he’d find a way. He must! Otherwise, what was the point of all this suffering and loss?

Unfortunately, that power was also tainted by the very same enemy Will lived to wield it against, and eventually, the poison in it would drive him insane. But here’s funny thing about sanity: it’s a slippery thing. It’s difficult to know when you have have it, and impossible to know when it's gone. Will still felt **relatively** sane, when he was calm and things weren't spontaneously combusting, and he had never hurt anyone.

Okay, he had never killed anyone…

...never killed anyone with the One Power…

...except for that one time, but the man was a Dark Friend anyway.

The important thing was that Will didn't **want** to kill anyone. Surely that counted for something. And he had lasted longer than most men! Male channelers were usually driven mad by the taint within years of their power manifesting, but Will was almost forty and still mostly sane. There had to be a reason for that. The Creator **must** still have a purpose for him. Didn’t he?

_‘Or maybe the Dark One does. Did you ever think of that, boy?’_

“Shhh,” Will said hushing the voice in his head. As usual, the voice did not listen. Instead it burst into one of its favorite tavern songs and shouted at Will to join in. Will didn’t feel like arguing with it tonight and started to sing along to appease it. The nice thing about borderline insanity was that Will was very rarely lonely.

Someone banged on the door. Will startled and sliced his hand open with his knife. “Burn me!” he swore.

“I need help in the main room! Our guest has arrived, and it's getting kind of rowdy in there,” Alana shouted through the wooden door.

Will made the knife vanish up his sleeve and tossed the bloody potato in the refuse pile. Alana screamed the moment she saw Will’s hand when he emerged from the pantry. “Bloody ashes, Will! How did you manage to butcher yourself THIS time? Come here, and let me look at you.”

“I’m fine. It’s just a knick.”

“Oh, no you don’t,” Alana sniffed and grabbed him by the collar. “Men! You are all dumber than cattle! What if that got infected? What if you lost your hand?” she yelled as she dragged him over to the kitchen basin.

Will had often wondered where cattle ranked in relation to woolhead, Alana’s second favorite colloquial endearment. He didn’t know these things. Will wasn’t from the Two Rivers originally. He was born in Arafel, far to the North, which was how he had come to be a soldier in Lord Nachiman’s army.  Will would never have left if he hadn't killed that man and been exposed as a channeler. No, not a man…a Dark Friend.  Yet, despite how it all ended, Will was glad he had killed him. It needed to be done. To this day, Will could still feel the Dark Friend’s blood boiling beneath his hands while he pinned him to the ground. It was his first taste of _saidin,_ and no time since had been as sweet.

‘ _Because you won’t let it. Listen to me. Learn from me. We have to kill them this time. We have to kill_ **_them all._ ** _. It's the only way. The only…please,’_  the voice fell silent and began to weep.

Will lost interest in his inner turmoil when Alana dumped a cup of warm water over his hand. “Bloody, flaming, Light cursed ashes!” he yowled.

Alana slapped him across the back of his head and ended his tirade. “Language! Now, be still while I wrap this so I don't have to disinfect it again, woolhead.”

“Is that an upgrade or downgrade from cattle?” he asked as she wrapped his hand in a strip of clean linen.

“On my hope of salvation, does it matter? They’re both stupid animals, but maybe if you play your cards right tonight you will be upgraded to something as useful as a plow horse,” she said.

He chuckled. “Thank you, Alana” Will said and wrapped her hand in his wounded one. “You are a good friend, the finest I’ve had in a long time.”

“Sarcasm does not become you, Will.”

Only, Will wasn’t being sarcastic. He avoided making friends as a general rule. Goodbyes were never easy, so he had decided to stop saying hello altogether many years ago. But Alana had made her own decisions, and they did not include Will's feelings on the matter. In time, they had become close companions despite his efforts to be unsociable. Will thought of her as the little sister he never had. “How can I ever repay you?

“I’m so glad you asked! I want you to wait on our guest tonight, the traveler.”

It seemed like an odd request. Alana usually enjoyed entertaining the guests. “Why?”

“Because he gives me the creeps, and you owe me.”

“That’s it?” Will said and scratched his rough cheek. He should have shaved this morning if he was going work the table of their wealthiest patron.

“It’s enough, believe me. They are buzzing around him like vultures hoping that he’ll tell them about…the war. It’s unseemly! Stop by often and entertain him. It’ll be easy. Have a beer with him if you think it will help. I'll tell Orrin the tab is on me.”

“That's your brilliant plan? You’re relying on me to be charming?”

“I’m relying on you to be you. People are intimidated by you, Will. Don’t ask me why. They don’t know you like I do, but they’ll stay away from our guest if you are hanging around.”

Truer words were never spoken. Will’s erratic and churlish manner repelled friendly conversation like a skunk repelled houseguest. “Aren’t you worried I'll drive him away too?”

“Nah,” Alana said and patted his cheek. “You’re surly, but you underestimate how good looking you are. Plus, he’s your type. Handsome as the sun is warm, mature, and he looks strong enough to toss even you over his shoulder. Put a little effort into it tonight and you might be walking away with more than a free drink in you if you can walk at all,” she winked.

Will turned scarlet beneath his beard totally scandalized by the frankness of the young woman.“Alana!”

“Yes! There you go! Just like that, you stud! Now, off with you,” Alana sang as she pushed him through the kitchen doorway, which Will did not go through noiselessly.

Everyone turned to look at him, everyone except a man in a dark cloak. Will hated being the center of attention. Hated it! He was beet red and wanted to die—duty be damned—but the worst part was knowing that the could facilitate this wish with no more effort than a sneeze. With just a little bit of the One Power, he could bring the whole roof down on top of them all. Problem solved! _Saidin_ , which usually existed as a dull ache inside his body, suddenly roared to life beyond his control. He wasn't purposefully touching the One Power (yet), but it called to him. _Saidin_ ’s white, hot power beat louder than the thrumming of his own heartbeat. If he could just…

 _'NO! NOT SAFE!’_ the voice suddenly screamed, the shock of which threw Will back into himself. Will pushed _saidin_ out of his mind and brought his pulse back under his control, but now he felt sick.

The stranger looked up from his cheese plate and scanned the room until his eyes settled on Will. Alana had been right about one thing, he was definitely Will’s type. Burn him.

“Can I get you anything, sir,” Will asked when he reached the table.

The man unclasped his cloak and let it fall from his shoulders apparently only now deciding to stay. Beneath the cloak, he wore a slate gray coat with white lace at his throat. The coat was cut in the Tairen fashion, which meant he had come from the south. But why would a Tairen Lord, and he was clearly a noble, come all the way to Deven Ride? Unless...Ashes, could the trouble in Lugard have spilled into Tear? Oh Light, let it not be so.

“Harlan. Call me Harlan,” the man said. “You look unwell. Sit,” he ordered and pointed at the chair beside him.

The worst of Will’s channeling sickness had already faded, but this was exactly the opportunity Alana had hoped for, so Will obliged the handsome stranger with no ulterior motives...at all. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what's wrong with me.”

“Have you been drinking?”

Will shook his head.

“Good. The you will mind having a drink with me,” Harlan said and lifted his hand to catch Alana’s attention.

“Yes?”’ she asked getting no closer than she had to in order to take his order.

“Two of whatever is the least awful and some meat to go with this cheese. And hurry, I think this young man is about to fall out of his chair.”

“Are you always this rude?” Will asked when Alana was out of earshot. He'd meant it as a joke, but judging from the look Harlan gave him, Will knew he had missed his mark. 

The Tairen lord rolled his eyes and leaned back in his chair. “I am when I am tired and beset upon, but it pleases me to know that you hold good manners in such high esteem. That is a rarity these days. I will apologize to your friend with an exceedingly handsome tip.”

“Beset upon?”

Harlan pointed over his shoulder with his thumb at the table behind him. The Lewin brothers, all five of them, were whispering among themselves while staring at Harlan’s back, and they were not the only ones in the room doing so. “Your neighbors are rather impolite.”

Will sighed. Nobility, blech. Why were the pretty ones always the most obnoxious? Harlan had a point, but rudeness should not beget rudeness. It wasn’t fair. He had strong and pleasant facial features, and beneath the expensive wool coat there were hints of an equally fine frame. Not to mention those hands…it just wasn't bloody fair.

‘ _Not this one, boy. He is bad for you,’_ the voice said.

 _‘Oh, you can definitely piss right off,’_ Will scolded. The day he took relationship advice from figments of his imagination was the day he really would drown himself in a river.

“Seems like the locals aren't the only ones prone to staring,” Harlan said.

Will jumped. “I...I’m so sorry. I didn't mean to.”

“Nonsense,” Harlan leaned forward and reached across the table for Will’s hand, but Will shrank away from him.

If Harlan was annoyed, he didn't show it. In fact, he didn't show any emotion on his face at all. “Of course you meant to. You just did not mean to be caught. There is a difference between the two. Now, please, relax. What is your name?”

“Will. Will Gra’ham.” Will said feeling uncomfortably warm beneath Harlan’s blank gaze.

“Never apologize for your desires, Will. I certainly won’t this evening.” Harlan turned his hand over and uncurled his fingers. Will assumed he was asking for his hand again until Alana set a clay mug into Harlan’s open palm.

“Apple brandy, brewed locally by a farmer down in Edmonds Field.” Beverly said and set a mug of regular ale in front of Will.

“I said **two** of your best,” Harlan said coldly.

“Will likes ale, and he **hates** apple brandy,” she fired back. “Your chicken will be out soon.”

“Is everyone in this town unconscionably rude?!” Harlan cried.  

“She’s right though. I hate al’Thor’s brandy. Would you prefer to show off or see that I enjoy myself, my lord, and thank you for the ale.”

“My lord?”

“Am I wrong?”

Harlan retracted his claws with a smile. “You are not, and you make a valid point. Tell me, Will. What else do you enjoy?” he asked and clinked his mug against Will's.

“Right now, I’d enjoy it if everyone would stop eavesdropping on our conversation because I can guarantee they’ll hear things they will wish they hadn’t,” Will said raising his voice over the background noise. All the chatter in the room stopped abruptly.  “But that's not going to happen until you tell them what they want to hear, so you might as well give the people a show,” Will suggested.

Harlan sighed. “Well, what do they--no, what do you wish to hear, Will? I don’t do business with the rude.”

Honestly, Will didn't want to hear anything except Harlan moaning loudly beneath him, but that better **not** happen tonight. Might as well get an update on life beyond the monotony of the Two Rivers. “You’ve come from the south, and you’ve ridden hard to get here. Your boots and cloak are caked in dust. I believe you left something behind in Tear that frightens you because there is no reason you would desperately need to be here in the Two Rivers.”

“How very observant. But I fail to see--”

“You're a refugee. Why else would you be running? Tell us what you know.”

“I know many things. Be more specific,” Harlan said hiding a smile behind the rim of his mug.

Will’s palms were sweating. Why did Harlan have to be so difficult? Will might not be as superstitious as the rest of the villagers, but why risk it? Naming the Dragon Reborn was nearly as bad as calling down the Dark One. _‘Even a snake can smile. Don’t let him unsettle you,’_ the voice warned before switching into another language, which Will did not understand. “Tell me about Hannibal. Tell me about the Dragon Reborn.”

“Ohhhh, why didn't you just say so? Of course. I can tell you whatever you want to know about Hannibal. You are correct. I have just come from Tear trying to escape that terrible business,” Harlan tisked. “Where would you like me to begin?”

But it wasn’t Will who asked the first question. Emry al’Seen stood up so quickly he knocked over his glass. “Is it true? Is he really the Dragon?”

“Of course he’s not!” Adan Lewin shouted. “He’s a False Dragon like the other two!”

“Can we please stop saying that word!” Alana yelled from the bar with a plate of chicken in her hands.

Harlan crooked his finger and beckoned her over. “He could be the Dragon. Thousands follow him believing him to be the one. His army has already laid ruin to Lugard, and they are advancing on Tear as we speak.” Harlan smiled as he spoke, but kept his eyes focused on Alana in a manner that was not friendly. “He means to take the Stone.”

Alana’s hands trembled as she placed the plate in front of Harlan. “The Stone of Tear shall not fall by--”

Harlan chose that moment to strike with the speed of a serpent. He grabbed Alana’s wrist, which prevented her from leaving, and lowered his voice malevolently, “--by any other hand but the Dragon’s. Yes, I know the prophecy, and by that prophecy we will **all** know him too.”

“Let her go, Harlan,” Will warned.

But Harlan ignored him. “He will take the Stone, and when does, dear girl, will you follow him? He is your only hope against the Shadow after all.”

“Hope? He will destroy us all!” Orrin shouted.  

“Fools! He will only destroy some on you,” Harlan hissed. Alana tried to twist out of his grasp, but Harlan only tightened his grip. “Have none of you even bothered to read the damn prophecies? Some of you will survive if he wins against the Shadow! Isn’t that worth it!? What chance do you have if you sit here cowering in your farmhouses!”

“Harlan!” Will shouted and slammed his bloody palm down on the table. “Let her go! Let them all go! Can’t you see you’re scaring them?”

Harlan dropped Alana’s hand and sneered at Will. “It doesn't look like you are enjoying yourself anymore, Will.”

“No, I guess I’m not.”

“What a pity,” Harlan spat. He swept his mug off the table and drained his glass.

“It is,” Will said and started to rise. He’d had enough of this prick.

“What’s he like?” Eldin Coplin asked causing everyone in the tavern to groan.

“ _‘What’s he like?’_ Only a Coplin would ask that bloody question,” Emry said. “He’s the bloody Dragon Reborn! He’s probably a monster.”

Will sat back down since the conversation had started up again. He couldn't leave the villagers alone with Harlan. Who knows who he’d pick on next.

Harlan was silent, and gave Will a side-long look.

 _‘He wants you to ask him.’_ the voice said.

 _‘I am well aware of that, pal!’_  Will shouted back.

_'Better just to kill him. I don't like him.’_

Will froze. The voice had never urged him to kill anyone specific before, not even in self-defense. Its threats of violence were usually directed towards general and widespread mayhem. That could not be a good sign. Light, was this the beginning of the end for him? “What is he like?” Will sighed.

“Hannibal Lecter is tall and incredibly handsome. It is said that he is more charming and intelligent than ten Artur Hawkings, and--”

“That’s not what they want to know,” Will interrupted. “Can he channel?”

The room went silent. Harlan made eye contact with each person within his line of site for dramatic effect before he spoke. “Yes.”

No one spoke.

No one moved.

Fear had brought everything to a halt. Even Will, who had less reason to fear another male channeler than most, felt his blood freeze solid. It was the first Dragon who had poisoned  _saidin_ for all generations to come during his battle against the Dark One. Then he and all his soldiers had laid waste to the world, shattering the Age of Legends and obliterating whole kingdoms from the map in their madness. The female channelers, the Aes Sedai of the White Tower, were the only reason there was a world left for the Dragon Reborn to destroy again. 

”The White Tower will stop him!” Eldrin said.

“Oh, the White Tower has already failed,” Harlan replied and the entire room gasped. “He killed the first dozen handily, and he'll do the same to those that follow. I’ve grown weary of this discussion. Will, there are other things I’d like to do tonight if you are still interested in joining me. The girl knows which room I am staying in.”

“Uhhh, I have to get back to work now.”

Harlan stood up and snuck a coin beneath his mug. “That is for your friend. Please give her my apologies. I am afraid I was more exhausted than I realized and have been a terrible boar. I would like you to think better of me.”

“I'm sorry, Harlan. I just don’t find you that interesting,” Will said relishing the sour look Harlan gave him.

“You will,” he said as he picked up his cloak and Will noticed for the first time that he wore a sword on his hip.

Will watched Harlan walk away debating which part of the man was finer: that ass or his sword. Wait...that sword. There was something familiar about that sword.

Whispers from across the room, confirmed Will's suspicions. “Blademaster,” they all said.

Will got up and began to clear the table for Alana He nearly choked when he lifted Harlan’s mug and saw a solid gold mark sitting there. Alana would be thrilled! In many other countries, a gold mark was nothing special. But here, it could buy a good horse, tack, and feed for an entire season. Harlan might be a prick, but at least he was a generous prick.

Later that night, after everyone had gone home and the kitchen was clean, Will sat alone in his room reading about the travels of Jain Farstrider. Harlan was not going to be pleased when it became clear that Will had blown him off, but it was for the best—no matter how much Will wished otherwise. Things often caught fire when Will felt overwhelmed, but they **always** caught fire when he had sex. Every damn time.

Will placed the heel of his palm against his cock, which was half-hard already just thinking about Harlan. How long had it been? Will groaned when he removed his hand. Five years and one barn fire ago. That’s how long it had been. Ashes.

Will needed a distraction and Farstrider just wasn't cutting it tonight, so he turned to the one thing that was always sobering. He closed the book and knelt beside his bed. Hidden between the mattress and the slats was a large, flat object wrapped in sail cloth. Will sat down in the floor and laid it across his lap. With trembling fingers he peeled back the fabric until he exposed the leather scabbard and sword belt within. The sword, his sword, was as beautiful as the day he had earned it. Will knew he should probably sell it, but the sword didn’t feel like his to sell anymore. The sword belonged to another man.  It didn’t feel right to get rid of it without permission just because Will didn’t remember how to be that other man anymore.

Will stood up and tossed the sail cloth onto his bed. He belted the sword around his waist and smiled as the weight settled against his hip. The sound a sword makes when it is properly unsheathed is like the flick of an arrow. The sound a good sword makes is like a lovers sigh after they have been well cared for. Will’s sword was very well cared for.

He fell into Moon Rises Over Water then moved on to Folding the Fan. On and on his practice went. His movements were stiff, but they cooled his blood as he relaxed into the sword forms. When he felt better, Will held the sword up for inspection and looked into the single eye of the heron engraved on the blade, the mark of a blademaster. Harlan’s sword had born its exact match. There were maybe only a dozen of these blades in all the world, and now two of them had found their way to Deven Ride. What were the odds?

 

* * *

In hindsight, we should have known better. The numbers were there even if the signs were not. Three False Dragons in as many years when there were only two others in the last twenty? Light, forgive us. I fear the cost of our mistake will be incalculable when all is said and done.

\--from the journal of Ellisande Arai  
Aes Sedai and Sitter of the White Ajah  
during the rule of the Amrylin Alana a’Bloom do Verger, the Third Age

 


	2. Him They Named Dragon: Part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will receives a surprise visitor in the middle of the night, someone who is as pushy as he is handsome.

* * *

Pray that the heart of stone remembers tears, and the soul of fire love.

\--from **_The Karaethon Cycle_ **  
As translated by Eliaine Marise’idin Alshinn,  
Chief Librarian at the Court of Arafel,  
In the Year of Grace 231  
Of the New Era, the Third Age

* * *

 Will was asleep when Harlan kicked his way through the door. “Will!” Harlan shouted, and like a big cat he pronounced. He didn't even bother to remove his sword belt just jumped into bed, armed and fully dressed. Will took a shot to the nuts from the hilt of Harlan’s sword, which left him dazed long enough for Harlan to settle himself and pin Will’s legs between his own. “I am not accustomed to being kept waiting!”

“Burn you, you bloody idiot! What’s the matter with you!?!” Will shouted back. He grabbed Harlan by the shoulders and tried to throw the man off, but Harlan rose up onto his knees, placed both hands on Will’s chest, and pushed him back onto the mattress with an embarrassing lack of effort. Light, Alana had been right. Harlan was probably strong enough to toss Will over his shoulder if he wanted to, and he certainly wanted  **_something_ ** right now.

“I am annoyed, and I am randy. I thought you understood that.” Harlan snapped.

“Um? And I thought I made myself clear, I'm not interested.”

“Hah! You will have to be more convincing than that.” Harlan reached between Will’s legs and grabbed his hardening cock. “This feels like interest to me,” he sneered and wasted no time rubbing Will down.

 _‘Burn me!’_  Will tried to yell, but what came out instead was a loud and hungry moan. Harlan was a menace, an absolute menace! Nevertheless, Will began to relax beneath the Tairen lord's body; he just couldn't help himself. Harlan was excellent with his hands, and it had been so very long since Will had shared an evening with anybody—not that this was sharing. This was siege warfare, and Will’s mental fortresses were crumbling before Harlan's unbridled aggression like sand before the tide.

“Harlan, listen to me,” he panted. “Stop. It’s dangerous. **_I'm dangerous._** ”

The Tairen lord let go of Will and removed his sword and belt. He leaned the scabbard against the side of the bed near Will’s head, and instead of stopping, Harlan doubled down. The heron mark on the hilt watched surreptitiously as Harlan lay down on top of Will and began to thrust against Will’s thigh. Will closed his legs, but Harlan reached down again and forced his them back open.

“Relax, Will. I know precisely how dangerous you are. You cannot hurt me,” he said pressing the words into Will’s neck.

Will groaned from the pain of denial and the pleasure Harlan lavished on him. He reached up and grabbed a fistful of Harlan's hair intending to pull him off. But as Harlan continued to aggressively bear down on him, Will found it was all he could do to hang on. He focused on cool rivers, sturdy stones, and anything that would prevent him from embracing the One Power while Harlan bucked into him greedily. Will opened his legs a little wider to allow Harlan to lay more comfortably between them hating that he was so weak willed and horny.

“Good, good. You’re doing so well,” Harlan purred. “Shall I give you more? I want to, Will. I want to give you **_much more._ ** Say it," he hissed and Will felt the tip of Harlan's tongue flick across his skin. "Say yes, and I can be yours.”

Will doubted that. If anything, it was the opposite. The way Harlan held him was possessive and hungry like a man who hadn’t eaten in a month. Will could empathize with the feeling having voluntarily starved himself for five years. When Will said nothing, Harlan pressed his teeth into Will’s neck and began to eat his way upwards towards his jaw. Oh yes, Will knew **_exactly_ ** what Harlan wanted. Will wanted many things too. First, he wanted to obliterate that smug smile, which itched against his skin like stiff wool. Then Will wanted to flip the Tairen lord onto his back and ride him so thoroughly Harlan wouldn't be able to move until morning. But most of all, Will just wanted to be kissed. Soft and tender or hard and mean, it didn't matter. He wanted to feel another man’s breath tickle the skin above his top lip. He wanted to dip his own tongue into a partner’s mouth and taste their affection for him. Most of all, Will wanted to be loved and appreciated even if it was only for one night. That last thought finally pushed Will over an edge he had desperately been trying to avoid.

 _Saidin_ sparked to life like an Illuminator’s firework inside him. The fire filled him and burned through his remaining reservations. Will’s other hand, the one not already tangled in Harlan’s hair, pulled him closer. Will groaned contentedly and thrust back against Harlan's body chasing his own pleasure now.

“More?” Harlan asked again while playing with the button on Will’s trousers coquettishly.

 _'NO! NOT SAFE!'_   the voice of Will’s insanity screamed. Will’s tenuous hold on _saidin_ shook as a result until Harlan’s mouth found his. The kiss was shockingly tender and almost unsure compared to Harlan’s technique below the belt, which suited Will’s needs just fine for the moment. The soft and sweet approach allowed Will to melt deeper into a fantasy where he wasn't hated or feared just because he was a channeler and destined for madness. It was only a fantasy though, a fleeting and unsatisfying game of make believe. Harlan would almost certainly plunge that sword into Will’s chest if he knew what kind of monster he was trying to stick his dick into. But it gave Will hope that somewhere, in some other world, there was a man capable of holding him regardless of what poison coursed through his mind and body. _Saidin’s_ fire burned brighter as Will feed it with fuel from Harlan's lips. “More,” Will breathed into his partner’s mouth. “Light, give me everything.”

Harlan tore himself away from the kiss and sat up. He stripped off his coat and shirt and dropped them onto the floor. Will was pleased to know his earlier assumptions about Harlan’s fine frame were right on the money. A whine escaped his lips as he ran a hand up one of Harlan’s forearms, which brought a smile to his bed fellow’s face.

“I promise to lay the whole world at your feet, dear one. It’s yours, all of it.”

“Don’t need the world. Just fuck me. Fuck me, please,” Will writhed and pleaded. He felt like he was going to burst if he did not find some release from _saidin_ soon.

Harlan grinned. “Don't worry. When I am done with--,”

A piercing scream cut Harlan short and severed Will’s connection to the One Power with a single stroke.

“Alana!” Will gasped. A wave of nausea and confusion rolled over him in the absence of _saidin,_ but Alana’s voice grounded him in the present. She sounded frightened.

“What now?” Harlan sighed and rolled off Will without needing to be asked.

“WILL!” Alana’s voice called again sounding more than just frightened this time. She was terrified and in pain!

“Ashes!” Will cursed. He rose to his feet and drew Harlan's sword from its scabbard.

“Hey!”’ Harlan shouted and lunged for him, but Will slipped through his fingers and was out the door before Harlan could rally a second attack.  He rushed downstairs with the unfamiliar blade in his hands. It was lighter than his own, almost impossibly so, but that changed when he reached the kitchen and found Alana weeping at the feet of a man swathed in a large black cloak. Harlan's sword, which had felt like glass only a moment ago, became as heavy as iron in the presence of this stranger. The oppressive aura surrounding the cloaked figure intensified as the assassin turned towards Will. The hooded man raised a black blade at him and assumed a defensive stance. Will didn't need to see the sword or peer into the hood to recognize his opponent. The sour lump in his stomach told him everything he needed to know. “Myrddraal,” Will said slurring the pronunciation with a growl. The Myrddraal were known by many names throughout the world: Fades, Lurks, Leeches, the list went on. Every culture had stories, and they were just stories for most folk. But Will knew better. He also knew that Myrddraal should not exist so far from the Blight and his homeland. Something was wrong. Something was **_very wrong_ ** if the Shadow had come to the Two Rivers.

The stories liked to say that ‘the look of the Eyeless is fear.’  As Will gazed into the sightless face of the Myrddraal, he couldn't help but wonder if those storytellers had ever encountered one in the flesh. The look of the Eyeless wasn't just fear. It was every dark thought you’d ever had in your life. Will had encountered the creatures before, but no amount of experience ever truly prepared a soldier to face off against such wickedness. They were human in form except for the empty eye sockets, half breeds resulting from the nonconsensual coupling of a human and a Trolloc. That was the power of the Shadow. How their sight worked was anyone’s guess. Their blindness seemed not to affect them in battle. It perverted natural law and bred abominations from malice and tragedy.

Will reached for _saidin._ He hoped to shield himself in its fire, but failed to hold its corrosive sweetness inside his body for longer than a heartbeat. Fine, he’ll do it the hard way—the Borderlands way. _“_ Death is lighter than a feather. Duty heavier than a mountain,” he said to himself as he fell into Reaping the Barley and prepared to do his duty on this day.  

“No one needs to die,” the Myrddraal said in a voice that lacked all fond feelings. “Just tell us where he is, and we’ll let you and the woman go free.”

 _Lies._ The Myrddraal had no intention of letting him or Alana live, but it was in Alana's best interest to keep it talking. Alana, now free from the Myrddraal’s freezing gaze, was starting to come around. Will pointed with his eyes to the nearest door, and hoped the Myrddraal would not notice. “Be more specific,” Will told the Shadowspawn and mimicked Harlan's condescending tone in order to anger and distract it, so Alana might make her escape.

“Don’t play games with us, boy.”

 _Us?_ Ashes! Will barely turned in time to block the blow that would have cleaved his head from his shoulders if Harlan’s sword had been one hair heavier. Black steel forged in the fires at Thakan’dar met the pure, unblemished blade of the heron mark sword when the second Myrddraal attacked.

“HIM!” the Shadowspawn screamed. Spittle flew into Will’s face as it continued to howl. “Him whom they named Dragon!”

Will put all his strength behind the block but was forced backwards towards the waiting embrace of the first Myrddraal. He hoped Alana had at least made it out okay. He only had a few more seconds before it was all over. Desperately, he reached for the One Power again. It was his only source of salvation now, but his efforts failed once more. Blast _saidin_ and all its nonsense! What use was this curse if it didn’t work half the time!?!

Suddenly, the second Myrddraal jerked free causing Will to fall flat on his face. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a flash of steel and yellow hair striking fast and quick at his attacker, but that was all Will registered before the first Myrddraal lunged at him.

Will rolled and narrowly avoided being skewered on the end of its black blade. He was on his feet again by the time the second swing came.

“Surrender and give us the Dragon!” the Myrddraal growled and swung for Will’s head.

Will ducked under the blow and shot the vile creature a look of contempt. “Your business is with me, Shadowspawn. You would do well take it more seriously.”

Will and the Myrddraal traded several blows. Will had the skill advantage as a seasoned soldier and a blademaster, but the Myrddraal was a full head taller and faster, which made him difficult to pin down. The pitch of battle changed when the other Myrddraal began to wail and fell to the floor in convulsions—not quite dead but no longer a threat. Will had seen it before in the Borderlands. The Fade might be down, but it would take a full day to die. 

The Myrddraal’s cries stirred something inside him, and then _saidin_ was there. Will tightened his grip on Harlan’s sword and took the offensive. He let the One Power fill him and keep filling him until he thought his hair might catch on fire. _Saidin_ felt different than it had while he had lain with Harlan in his bedroom. Using the One Power in battle seemed somehow purer. Will barely even noticed the oily rot of the taint as he drew on _saidin._  With three sweeps of his sword, Will's own Myrddraal lay writhing at his feet.

Will whooped and kicked the convulsing body of the now headless Myrddraal repeatedly until a strong hand pulled him away from the corpse by his elbow.

“Will! Will, listen to me! You must calm down. You’ve gone too far. This is bad for you.”

Will’s eyes were wide and wild when he connected with the sound of the voice. The stranger from Tear. The handsome stranger. Harlan. Beautiful Harlan. Will felt like kissing him right there. “I stole your sword,” he mumbled instead.

“Yes, you did. Imagine my surprise at finding a replacement so near at hand. This one belongs to you, I presume?” Harlan offered Will his old sword in exchange for the one Will had stolen.

Will moved in a fugue state unable to disconnect from the One Power in an unusual deviation from the norm.

“Will? Can you hear me?” Harlan asked and tilted Will’s head back so he could look down into his eyes. Light, Harlan had pretty eyes. They were the color of honeyed brandy and would probably taste better too. Wait, that was gross. You didn't eat eyes. Ugh, what was wrong with him?

“I can hear you,” Will responded tonelessly, but hearing was not the same as understanding.

Harlan smoothed Will’s curls away from his face like one would treat a nervous dog. “I wish I could take you back upstairs and help you unburden yourself, but you must follow my orders to the letter. We have to leave this place now for the sake of your village as well as ourselves. With two Myrddraal dead, others will not be far behind.”

“Others?” Will asked vapidly. “What others?” The Shadowspawn were all dead. They were dead, and Alana was safe. Wasn't she? Light, it was warm in here. And why was Harlan acting so strangely? It felt like he was looking through Will's skull and staring directly into the light of _saidin._  Maybe he could see it too. No...that didn’t make sense either. He’d have to be a channeler, and Harlan wasn't damaged goods. He was perfect. “Do you see it too, Harlan? That glorious dark fire…,” Will asked and rocked forward. There was a good chance he was going to faint, so instead he lay his head on Harlan’s shoulder and close his eyes.

“What? Light, does the Great Lord already have you,---hrrrm." Whatever Harlan was about to say, he stopped himself and took a deep breath before continuing. “Will, you are from the Borderlands if I am not mistaken, and if so, you understand what most others will not. Where there are Myrddraal, there are always--,”

“TROLLOCS!” a villager screamed from the street.

Harlan sighed and sounded more annoyed than afraid. “On my hope of Salvation…yes, Trollocs.”

* * *

 

We were the first, you know—the first village to be shattered by the Dragon’s war. Not Tear. Not Lugard. Us, the men and women of the Two Rivers. Some days I wake up, and there is only hatred in my heart when I think about that first battle. But some days...well, I don’t know what the feeling is. It's a difficult thing to do, accepting the man who will save you and destroy you. Burn the Dragon Reborn! Burn and bless him both.

\--Adan Buie, a thatcher of the Two Rivers region  
Conversation recorded by Elenia Sedai, Ajah unknown  
One year after the fall of Tear, the Third Age

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OH MY GOD, Y’ALL! You are all so wonderful! I’m blown away by all the kind feedback you’ve left on the first chapter and I’m thrilled you’re enjoying this: Wheel of Time readers and non-readers alike. Confetti for everyone! I hope you enjoyed the second part much as the last. 
> 
> Also, check out the most AMAZINGLY WONDERFUL MOST PERFECT thing ever that @byk23 did using the cover art of the first WoT novel! It sits in the place of highest honor at my cube, right next to my “We’re on to immortality” Sports Illustrated print out from the last Patriots Super Bowl.
> 
>  
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> 
> And here's some more news: I had think about how I could expand this and now have the beginnings of a plan of to carry on past the first sequence. More to come. Bad news, that means I won't be confirming many easter eggs from here on in. ;-) In the wise words of Robert Jordan himself, you will have to read and find out.


	3. Him They Named Dragon: Part3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Shadow has come to the Two Rivers, and the village has been overrun by its army. With the handsome stranger, Harlan, at his side, Will Gra’ham must make choice from which there is no going back from.

“Once the heron, to set his path. Twice the heron, to name him true. Once the Dragon, for remembrance lost. Twice the Dragon, for the price he must pay.” We tend to think of prophecy as something abstract and incomprehensible when often it is surprisingly literal and somewhat cheeky.

 

\--from the unpublished manuscript **Beyond the Veil** ,  
Written by Bedelia Sedai,  
Aes Sedai of the Red Ajah (now deceased)  
The Third Age

 

“TROLLOCS!” a villager screamed from the streets.

“On my hope of Salvation…yes, Trollocs.” Harlan said beneath the din of the pandemonium outside.

“I’ve got to stop them,” Will said and tried to wriggle free from Harlan’s hand because that was his duty—to fight the Shadow wherever and in whatever form it appeared—but Harlan held fast. His fingers dug into Will's arm hard enough for Will to register pain even through his _saidin_ fueled high, but that wasn't going to be enough. The battle’s pull over him was as strong, strong as the sweet and sour taste of the One Power. It was how he was built. If Harlan had a one track mind for sex, Will had an insatiable appetite for another kind of release, and since Harlan wasn't letting go, Will dragged him into the streets with him.

The chaos outside the Flowered Crown was difficult to parse. Will looked around in a daze before realizing that the fog in front of him was not all mental. Several buildings had caught fire during the battle and the streets were filled with smoke, which made it difficult to assess the strength of the enemy. It was loud too, but missing were the sounds of steel against steel and the heavy thrum of the calvary. Men and women cried to the Creator; the enemy cried for blood; and no one was mounting any form of resistance because these were farmers not soldiers after all.

“We should be cautious. This smoke will make it easy for the Shadowspawn to surprise us,” Harlan said. Fortunately it was a Trolloc that found them first and not another Myrddraal. Will might have missed a Fade in the confusion, but you could always hear and smell a Trolloc long before you caught sight of one.

The Trollocs were the sires of the Myrddral. Half-man, half beast, they made up the bulk of the Dark One’s army, and while usually bipedal, Will had seen the beasts drop to all fours and descend to their baser instincts, when seized by a feeding frenzy. The Trolloc that rushed the two swordsmen had the face of a bear and towered over Will by two...maybe three heads. Harlan released Will’s arm and stepped in front of him to meet the beast head on.

“Go, Will! Get out of here! You will get yourself killed in the state you are in!”

But Will wasn't going anywhere, no matter what Harlan wanted. “I think it's too late for that,” he said and pointed at the opposite end of the street. A warband of nearly twenty Trollcs, mostly bear and wolf types, were advancing on them with another Myddraal at their head. Although larger than the Myrddraal Trollocs were far less intelligent and took their orders from their offspring.

Harlan felled his mark and turned towards the other Trollocs. While the main street in front of the Flowered Crown was wider than others, the Shadowspawn would still only be able to come at them in separate waves, which gave Will and Harlan a good chance to defend themselves without being overrun.

“Fall back,” Harlan ordered. “I'll let the first group slip through. Keep them off my back, or lead them away since you insist on making yourself useful.”

Will shook his head violently in protest, but also in an effort to regain control of himself. He would not be sent away like a child. He was a Light cursed blademaster for Salvation's sake, and Harlan could kiss his ass. “Don’t be an idiot. We’ll fight them together. There’s enough room.”

“No, Will. You are not thinking clearly right now, which makes you a danger not an asset.”

“I'm better now!” And the words were not a lie. Harlan’s condescension had given Will a focal point to reorient himself by, and Will’s drew on his anger to reinforce his psychological foundations.  War was its own kind of madness, and it was a madness Will understood intimately well no matter how far gone his mind was to the Shadow’s taint.

Harlan glared at him. “Were you this insubordinate with your commanding officers when you were in the army? Be reasonable and think. How could I possibly know whether that is true or not? You are a stranger to me.”

“You could just take me at my word,” Will snapped.

Harlan laughed at him with clear disdain. “Dogs keep their promises, Will. Humans never do. Now fall back, boy,” he said and fell into an unfamiliar version of Lion on the Hill while the advancing warband paused to receive orders from their Myrddraal. The cool, loose stance of the Tairen lord irritated Will, who was a more disciplined fighter, not that Will was surprised. Harlan seemed like the sort of jackass to pompously invent his own forms bucking centuries of institutional knowledge and art because he could.

Irritated as he was, Will gave no response. The tongue lashing stung too greatly, and the worst part was admitting that Harlan was right. As a soldier, Will saw the sense in his argument, but he didn't have to like it. Well burn it all, and common sense be damned!  Harlan could swallow that sharp tongue of his and choke on it. With _saidin_ still burning brightly in his body, Will could not turn away from this battle for all the gold in Andor. The fight was inside him, destroying him, and these Trollocs were only the cure. Will fell back, but only barely. 

“Ma’aman isaine sin, Myrddraal! Ninto beratam tyaku!” Harlan shouted at the Shadowspawn in a language Will didn’t understand, but he was sure it was the same language the voice so often spoke in. The Myrddraal seemed to understand though. He jerked as if struck, and then snarled at the two men, which only made Harlan laugh. The Tairen lord lifted his chin and taunted them further with his exposed neck. Firelight fell across his sharp cheekbones and yellow hair. He looked incandescent as he offered his challenge to the Trollocs. When Harlan caught Will looking too, he licked his bottom lip seductively and winked.

Then the Trollocs attacked.

True to his word, Harlan let three Trollocs slip by him AND the bloody Myrddraal. “Thanks, prick,” Will grumbled and fell back a little further.

The Trollocs were easy. It took a few blows to fell each Trolloc due to their size, but by the grace of _saidin_ and the poor leadership skills of the Shadow, did Will manage to kill all three Trollocs before the Myrddraal jumped in. “Coward! Were you hoping these puppies would take me down so you wouldn’t have to get involved? Biggest mistake you’ll ever make, Shadowspawn, and your last.”

Unlike the two Myrddraal in the Flowered Crown, this Fade demonstrated no interest in trading taunts with Will and kept up its attack.

As before, Will struggled with his opponent even though he had _saidin_ as his ally from the beginning making his movements sharper and more powerful, but prolonged exposure to the One Power was taking its toll. His strength and form were flagging. His cuts were becoming more reckless and undisciplined as the fevered madness returned. But Will was holding the Myrddraal off, and that wasn’t “nothing”.

“Nothing” came later, immediately later in fact, when Will stumbled over the body of a Trolloc, which gave the Myrddraal the opening it needed.

Will felt a searing line of pain across his abdomen when the tip of the Myrddraal’s black blade sliced him open. He was lucky in a way. The blow could have disemboweled him if the Fade had been any closer or any taller, but Will could feel that the cut was shallow and was not of any immediate concern. However, swords forged at Thakan’dar, in the capital city where the Shadow dwelt, bore their own mark of wickedness, and Will knew what such a wound could and **would** do to him. In no time at all, the cut would begin to fester and poison his blood without an Aes Sedai’s help, which meant Will was a dead man no matter what he did. The Aes Sedai were the protectors of this world and also the answer to madness of male channelers. When a man’s mind broke, it was the Aes Sedai who put him down like a rabid dog. But they weren't required to wait for the poor sod to succumb to insanity, and usually they did not. Mercy and justice were meant for the rest of the world. They were not meant for men like Will.

With nothing left to lose, Will lunged at the Myrddraal. Fueled by _saidin_ and the knowledge that his time on earth was up, Will fought like Artur Hawking himself. _Being brave was easy when you were already a dead man._ The Myrddraal collapsed at Will’s feet in three pieces when Will severed the Shadowspawn’s arms from the rest of the body, and it felt **_glorious._** Will laughed maniacally over the body of his latest victim.  

“Who’s next? I don’t have all day! Dance with me, Lord of Shadows!” he shouted, but there was no one left to kill.  Will looked for Harlan, but he could not see the Tairen lord among the remaining Trollocs. Will assumed he was still alive because waves two and three of the warband were focused on something that was giving them tremendous difficulty. Something like an ornery old blademaster perhaps?

“Harlan!” Will called as he advanced on the warband. His shout drew the attention of two more Trollocs, who broke away from the main band. Will engaged them, killed them, and dropped onto his knees as soon as he had completed Moon Rises. His wound throbbed and kept perfect time with the pulsing sweet slick of _saidin_ inside his head. This was bad. Will was going to pass out soon; he could already see the edges of vision blurring.  Suddenly, there was a break in the Trolloc bodies just large enough to allow Will one final look at Harlan, the beautiful stranger who had offered him the world when all Will wanted was one night of comfort. The Tairen lord did not look so beautiful now. His face was drenched with sweat and his golden bangs were plastered to his forehead. There was also no trace of smugness in the curve of his lips either, which Will found himself missing more than he expected to.

“Will!”  Harlan called to him. His voice was equal parts determination and desperation, and Will knew what he had to do next. Will lifted his hand and great gouts of flame streamed from his fingertips enveloping the remaining Trollocs.  The scent of burning fur and flesh lay heavy in the air like shadows suspended on dust. Voices too were raised in fear and pain, but only some of those screams came from the dying Trollocs.

“He can channel! He can bloody channel! The Light save us all!” Someone screamed from a window of the inn. It sounded like Orrin’s wife.

Will lay on the ground on all fours barely managing to hold himself up. He looked for Harlan, but the world had become so very dark since the fire had gone out. _Saidin_ was gone. The light was gone. Harlan…all gone. Oh, what Will would not have given for one more night with him, one night of freedom.

“Goodbye, Harlan. See you in the next life,” he whispered before collapsing.

...

Will woke up bound to a wall and feeling sick to his stomach. He immediately puked, and while he tried to hit the ground beside him, most of the vomit ended up on his leg. He was bleeding too—not bleeding out just bleeding from the shallow cut across his abdomen, which refused to clot. What under the Light was happening? He remembered only fragments of the evening. _Saidin,_ the Trollocs, Harlan...they were all a distant memory compared to the pain in his guts. Wait...Harlan! Will’s last memory of the handsome stranger was of him being overwhelmed by half a dozen Trollocs while Will succumb to his wounds. Then there had been...fire.

“Ashes! I’m really in for it now,” he cursed. Will remembered everything now. He had channeled in full view of the village. “Well that explains the rope,” Will said and tugged on his restraints to test how screwed he was. Verdict: _he was well and truly fucked._

Will leaned back against the wall and reached for _saidin._ Predictably, the One Power refused his beck and call, which was probably okay. He would have puked again the moment the taint slid into him along with the lifesaving power of _saidin._ At this point, Will was even desperate enough to ask the voice for help, but it too had abandoned him in his final hours. “Burn me for the last time,” Will mumbled and thumped his head against the wall.

The noise attracted the attention of one of his guards, and the door of his makeshift cell creaked open. Orrin poked his head through, and Will’s spirits lifted.

“Orrin! Listen, I can explain everything!” he shouted but Will’s hopes crashed against the rocks when he looked into Orrin’s eyes. Closed off and full of fear, they were the eyes of a man who was not listening.  Will’s heart broke when he realized he had already been tried, convicted, and sentenced to death. If Orrin could turn on him, who did Will have to defend him? Maybe Alana...if she was still alive. “I'm not going to hurt you,” he said in a small voice. Goodbyes were never easy, but this one was almost enough to make him cry. Will had lived with Orrin and his family for nearly five years. It was the longest he'd ever lived in any one place since he had left Arafel behind. “I'm not going to hurt any of you. Orrin, believe me. We’re friends.”

Orrin backed away from the door slowly. “He’s awake,” Orrin whispered talking to himself at first. “He’s awake!!! Get the others!”

Orrin ran and moved beyond Will’s line of sight. There was a loud thud in the hallway followed by silence. Will squirmed in his restraints trying to get a better view, but his nausea returned. This time Will didn't even bother to aim for the floor.

It was at that moment that Harlan walked into Will’s cell and found him retching into his lap. Harlan’s already pale face became bone white. “Light above, man! Oh! Oh, dear Creator! You smell just awful. Please, stop.”

Will chuckled after he regained control of himself, and sat back against the wall. “What? No kiss, sweetheart? I’m disappointed.”

“Maybe later,” Harlan said snidely. “I still owe you a good fuck, and I mean to collect, William.”

Their brief time together already seemed like another lifetime ago. “It’s just Will, Harlan. One syllable. No fuss. Just like me. I’m problem free,” he sighed, which turned into a wet cough.

Harlan blinked. “It’s not short for anything?”

It was such an odd conversation to behaving right now, almost comical. “No, folks die young in the Borderlands. We’ve got no time for long winded names or speeches. Speaking of which, you should get going. There’s nothing you can do for me now.”

Harlan produced a concealed knife from his sleeve and dropped onto one knee at Will’s side.  “Nonsense,” he said and cut the ropes that held the Will to the wall. “I’m getting you out of here, and then I’m getting you a new shirt.”

Will shook the ropes off his wrists and rubbed them until they felt loose again. Light, the villagers had tied him up good, and these were people who knew him. Will hated to think what strangers would have done to him. Strangers like Harlan..

“Why aren’t you afraid of me?” Will asked.

Harlan prodded at the swollen side of Will’s face testing for fractures. Will suspected someone had kicked him when he passed out to make sure the rabid dog was down. “I have seen many wonderful and strange things in my life, Will. A man who is sane enough to put the lives of his friends above his own does not frighten me even if he can channel.”

“That’s...insane, Harlan.”

“Oh, ho ho ho! Says the pot to the kettle!”

Will’s mouth fell open in shock and horror on Harlan's behalf since the man seemed incapable of it on his own. "You CAN'T be serious. I-I’m a roof that’s ready to collapse at any moment!”

Harland rubbed the bridge of his nose like he was getting a headache. “It’s a good thing that I collect those then.”

“What?! What kind of answer is that?”  Will said and just stared at Harlan for a moment before he started shouting again. “Who does that!?”

“Ugh, don’t make me kiss you, Will. I will if it will shut you up, but I’d rather wait until you didn’t taste like vomit. Now, let’s go before you attract even more unnecessary attention with your caterwauling.

Will shook his head. “No, Harlan. I can’t. You don’t understand.” Will lifted up his shirt and groaned as he tore the cotton fibers away from the open and festering wound on his stomach. Angry red lines radiated from the cut, and the skin around the edges of it had already begun to turn black and crack. “If you’re so well traveled then you know what this means. The Myrddraal cut me open. I’ll be dead soon without a healer, and you know why I can’t go to the Aes Sedai. Now go, Harlan. There’s no reason for you to get in trouble along with me. The only thing you can do for me now is to leave me that dagger. I’d rather take care of the dying myself than leave it in the hands of others.”

Harlan grabbed his own stomach and began to laugh. “HAHAHA, what a treasure you are, dear one! You’re so bloody noble and good! I almost cannot stand it.”

Will didn’t know what to say this either. What under the Light was wrong with this loon? “I’m...I’m serious. Harlan, GO!” 

“No, Will. I am not leaving without you. That is settled. Now, try and keep quiet for this next part. It’s my turn to surprise you.” Harlan laid his hand on Will’s stomach directly over the wound. Will felt a chill wash through him before the breath was knocked out of his lungs like he had been kicked in the chest by a mule. Harlan removed his hand and Will watched as the skin knit itself back together. He knew what what was happening, but he still didn’t believe it. When the pain was gone and Will could speak again, he looked at Harlan adoringly. “You can channel. You’re like me?”

Harlan’s smile was sad when he laid a hand against Will’s unbruised cheek. “No, Will. I am nothing like you, but I would like to teach you if you’ll have me as your mentor and maybe more. There is much I could show you, and who knows what we could accomplish together. You could be powerful. You are strong already. With your help, Will, we can end this madness and make the One Power whole again. I have ideas. I just needed more power. I can have that with you at my side, dear one.”

Will’s heart hammered in his chest. They were words he had waited his entire adult life to hear. Impossible and hurtful words that could never be. What Harlan was suggesting was... _extraordinary,_  and ordinary men like him and Harlan did not defy the likes of the Dark One. Only the Creator and the Dragon could stand against the Shadow, and look how well that turned out for the world in Ages past.

“What are you talking about?” Will asked, his voice cracking as he stumbled over his words.

“We don’t have to die. We could cleanse _saidin_ of the taint. Do you understand, Will? We could be free! Come with me.”

Whether Harlan was serious or half-mad already, there was something solid in his offer that Will needed more than a cure. He grabbed Harlan’s hand with both of his and wept into his palm. “Yes...yes, I’ll go with you. I’ll do whatever you want me to do, Harlan, but please...I don’t want to be alone anymore.” Harlan stroked Will’s hair and sang an unfamiliar lullaby in that unknown language until Will was soothed. When Will stopped crying, Harlan helped him to his feet. Will’s wounds were healed, but his strength and balance had not returned yet. Also, he had a new scar across his stomach to add to his collection.

“I apologize for that,” Harlan said after catching Will running his fingers across it. “Aesthetics had to be sacrificed because of the poison as much as it pained me. In hindsight, I am glad things worked out as they did. It is a lovely scar, Will. I look forward to admiring it more closely when we are safe.”

Will laughed. “If you think that's good, wait until you see the others.”

Harlan made a lewd and satisfied little noise in his throat. “Do you have any below the belt for me to compare it to?”

“Plenty. You can stop collecting roof collapses, kitten. I have enough scars for two lifetimes of study.” Will said and wrapped Harlan in his arms.

“There is always room for a few more,” Harlan warned, “especially if you ever call me “kitten” again.”

They shared a deep kiss that ended much too soon. Harlan had to help Will down the stairs and past several bloodless bodies because of his balance issues.The sight alarmed Will, but Harlan assured him that the villagers were fine as he lead Will through the back door of the Flowered Crown.

“I made a deal with your friend Alana. She drugged them with a sedative I provided.”

“Why would she do that?” Will asked.

“I am told that you are a good friend, Will. I hope you will be my good friend one day.”

“Can I say goodbye?”

Harlan shook his head. “I advised the young lady to leave the inn and hide, so she could not be accused of aiding and abetting two fugitives. There is a note in my room explaining what I have done. She will not come to any harm.”

“That was kind of you.”

“I promised you that I would make it up to her for being so rude yesterday. I do not mean to be a monster, Will,” Harlan said in a tone that did not carry any humor with it.

“That implies that you can be, Harlan.”

“In all honesty, yes, I can be, and so I think you will be good for me too. It is the strangest thing: you make me want to be a better man.”

At the stables, two horses were already saddled and waiting for their riders—Harlan’s black mare and Winston, a horse which belonged to Orrin.

“The innkeeper has been compensated at triple the animal’s worth,” Harlan supplied before Will could even ask. “Can you ride? Caldieb can carry us both but not far and not fast. I would rather not lose any more time than we already have. The villagers will come for us when they wake, futile as their efforts will be against men like us.”

Will’s balance was coming back faster than his strength, so thought he might be okay for a little while. “I can ride at a brisk pace, but a full gallop might be a stretch for me.”

Harlan nodded. “That will be fine. Ride in front of me, so I will know if you grow weary and are in danger of falling off your horse.”

The two men mounted and departed Deven Ride by the Old Road. They rode through the night and did not stop until sunrise. In the morning, they ate, and Harlan did something with _saidin_ to lift the exhaustion from Will and both their horses.

“You need to change,” Harlan said after breakfast. “I will not spend another hour downwind from you smelling as you do.”

“I can find a creek to wash in, but unless you have a clean shirt to loan me, you’re pretty much screwed.

Harlan removed his coat and undershirt and tossed them both to Will. “Take mine. You will not be comfortable in the spare. I will need my cloak back before we reach Taren Ferry, and you’ll have to do all the talking to get us across the river. I cannot be seen.”

Will raised his eyebrow. “What’s this all about?”

“You’ll see. Go find a creek and wash until you do not smell like vomit.”

“Okay,” Will said taking a deferential tone with Harlan ever since his rescue when Will was not trying to court or be courted by him.

When Will returned to camp, he was freezing but refreshed by his dip in the river. The clothes Harlan had given him were a bit big, but warm and smelled like him, which Will found comforting. That comfort vanished when he saw Harlan waiting for him with the horses.

Harlan’s spare coat was a deep red, the color of blood, and it made his eyes look darker. This new coat was worth far more than the grey one judging by the amount of gold embroidery on it, but it was **_what_ ** was the embroidered on the cuffs that caught Will’s attention. Two serpentine creatures lay coiled around his wrists. They looked like snakes except that they had legs and giant maws that were fanged like a wolf’s. Will had never seen a creature like that, not even in children’s books, but he knew of them by reputation.

‘KILL HIM! KILL HIM BEFORE IT IS TOO LATE!’ The voice screamed in Will’s head loud enough to cause him physical pain.

But no amount of pain could match what Will felt in his heart. Dread and despair overcame him. He looked at Harlan utterly heartbroken. He felt betrayed. He felt used. And suddenly, Will felt very much alone again. No wonder Harlan had’t cared about what kind of monster Will was. He was the monster of monsters.

“Good morning, Will.” Harlan smiled arrogantly. Will felt like a shattered teacup because when he looked at Harlan, he saw a stranger once more. “Please, allow me to reintroduce myself.  I am Hannibal Lecter otherwise known as the Dragon Reborn. Welcome to my army, dear one."

* * *

Let the arm of the Lord of the Dawn shelter us from the Dark, and the great sword of justice defend us. Let the Dragon ride again on the winds of time for the great day of his wrath has come again.

\--from **Charal Drianaan te Calamon** ,  
The Cycle of the Dragon  
Author unknown, the Fourth Age

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you, thank you, a thousand times thank you for all the comments, reblogs, and support! I hope you are not too bummed about that ending, good thing there’s going to be more, right? [Ominous title makes more sense now though, I bet. ;-)]
> 
> Where do we go from here? Originally, I had no plans to carry on after this because I never expected my little fantasy experiment to find an audience. So I need to take a moment to fully figure some things out and plot a course that stays truthful to the source material, remains accessible to non-WoT fans (because I am THRILLED that readers unfamiliar with WoT are enjoying this), and isn't going to take me the 4 million words (yikes) it took Mr. Jordan (I have not the strength, my Lord Dragon). So there will definitely be more, but I need to take some time to strategize. My rough plan right now is to tell several linked set pieces that have a beginning, middle, and end much like a television show so that breaks don't feel too onerous. It will not probably be until I've finished the rough draft of [Maneater](https://archiveofourown.org/works/9105502), my Jaws-Hannibal AU because I don't have the headspace for both (and not get fired). You can follow my progress on the two projects on [Tumblr](http://redfivewritingby.tumblr.com/). I post a weekly progress report as a way of holding myself accountable to WiPs. 
> 
> In the meantime, I hope you will subscribe to this story and consider joining me on a little fishing trip by checking out Maneater. And once again, thank you from the bottom of my heart for your comments, kudos, and messages! I may have shed some happy tears this week over your feedback because I've never thought of myself as a competent fantasy writer. Tsingu ma choshih, Fannibals. Suravye ninto manshima taishite. <3 I love you.


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